I stood in the corner of Tawes Plaza  
It was hot again, unseasonal,
like it was in those days
so many years ago.
You were walking away as always
I watched.  

I was under the canopy of sun and leaf,
trying to hide myself from you
in the pockmarked shadows
of that same ambiguous weather
that we had always existed in.

You retreated.
I thought about things that weren’t meant for me.
You cut your hair too, it
no longer cowlicky and boy-like.

That hair,
as dark as mine,
the way I would cradle your head to my chest,
like a child.
How I loved to run my hands through it,
to look down
my line of sight overwhelmed by the soft blackness.

I would not smile,
but silently, I was contented,
warmed with shapeless pride.
You turned your head
and fixed on that beauty mark squarely on your nose
I thought –
ah mine,
as though it was true.
It was that fading light,
that vernal dusk
that cast everything in deep orange,
so deceptively warm.

We were always in transition,
we only ever wanted
when
the air was still,
pregnant with the expectation
of what was next.
On our axis it was always
equinox –
your mind
equally divided.